The Shy Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

“Ah, my dear Duchess, I fear my illness is of the spirit entirely. A broken heart is not so apparent, but is painful none the less.”

  Much like a broken purse? Or perhaps he was in truth pining for Jane. “Then surely Cheshire would be more the place for you, if that is your ailment.”

  “Only if you were there, your Grace.” He leaned close again, and Emily slid back until she found herself quite mashed up against that wall. The warm, sugary smells, so comforting earlier, now felt nauseatingly oppressive.

  “Did you not realise how many hearts were wounded the day you married?” he said, quiet and intense.

  “That is utter nonsense,” Emily said. “My husband’s was the only offer I received all Season. If hearts were ‘aching’ they were well hidden.”

  “Emily!” He grabbed for her hand again, but she pulled it away, that cold fear trickling over her. “You know I was going to speak to your father, I merely had certain matters to resolve first, before I could be worthy of you and your family name. Surely I made my interest most evident, even to you. Remember when I came to your house before your wedding?”

  She remembered that all too well. But she shook her head. “No, Mr Rayburn, I was aware of no such interest before that day, when you so importuned me in my own house. By then I was committed to my husband.” She yanked on her gloves, refusing to look at him. It was time for something quite extreme. She was going to have to be rude. “And even if I had not been, we would never have suited, you and I, we are much too different in our manners and our ambitions. I am sure you agree with me now. You will soon find a much more compatible match, I am certain.”

  “As you did? A match with a fine title?” he said harshly. “You will soon be sorry for such a tawdry bargain. You will wish you had listened to me, had given me a chance.”

  Emily had had quite enough from him. She did have a title now, and surely one of the advantages of a title was not having to listen to nonsense. She stood up, her chair scraping across the floor. “I must go now. Please say nothing further to me.”

  But he was not finished. He grabbed her arm, his bruising grip wrinkling her fine sleeve. “When you do rue your devil’s bargain, Duchess, I will be here. Perhaps you would care for a visit to Baden-Baden as well? A time away from your oh-so-virtuous husband and his family of bedlamites. We could have a grand time together—I could show you things he never could. Things in the bedchamber…”

  Emily stomped down hard on his foot, under cover of her hem. Her kid half-boot could not inflict much harm, but the surprise of her move drove him back from her. She pushed past him. “I will thank you never to speak to me again, Mr Rayburn, or to my friend Miss Thornton. Our acquaintance is quite at an end.”

  “I would not be so quick to dismiss me, your Grace,” he said harshly. “You may have your lofty position now, but your husband’s family is notoriously fickle. What will you do when you are alone in the world, and feel the chill of scorn and ridicule, as I have? When your husband will no longer protect you?”

  Emily hurried out of the shop, not daring to breathe until she was safe in her carriage and rolling away from the square. Only then did she peer out the window, to find Mr Rayburn standing on the walkway watching her depart. His stare seemed to burn right through the thick glass.

  She had not realised the depth of his feelings before, and they frightened her. He said his feelings were love of some sort, but she knew enough to see what they really were—a man denied the toy he wanted. Worse, that it had been snatched away by a man of greater status, and far greater worth in every way. But the crude way he would suggest an affair in some far-off watering place…

  Emily’s hands were shaking. She twisted them together in her lap, fighting the urge to chew her thumbnail. She knew very well she should not feel that way. He was nothing, a denied suitor who could not hurt her. But still she could not push away her dark feelings.

  What will you do when you are alone in the world?

  The carriage drew to a halt outside Manning House, and for once that cold edifice looked positively welcoming, a haven. She hurried up the stone steps and into the foyer, leaving her gloves and hat with the butler, who informed her the duke was in the drawing room.

  Emily walked slowly up the grand staircase, trying not to run, not to slam the doors behind her and lock them. But when she saw Nicholas there by the fireplace, his bright hair rumpled, she could not help herself. She dashed into his arms, holding on to him as tight as she could. Only when his embrace closed around her did she feel finally safe.

  But for how long?

  Nicholas laughed, and lifted her off her feet to spin her around until she laughed, too.

  “What a grand welcome,” he said. “I venture to guess it was a very good tea party—or a very horrid one, and even I look good in comparison.”

  “It was somewhere in between, I would say. Tea and gossip, the usual sort of thing. And I think you will always look better than that.”

  “High praise, my dear. And I dare say you are in need of some sherry, your cheeks look rather pale.” He set her down on a chaise and poured out a generous measure of the amber liquid from the sideboard.

  Emily usually didn’t care for the sweetness of sherry, but today she needed its bracing warmth. It felt even better when Nicholas sat beside her and rested his arm lightly around her shoulders. Mr Rayburn was surely wrong—she was not alone in the cold world. Nicholas was her husband, and this was her home. Not George Rayburn, or beautiful ladies in hidden portraits, or even herself could change that.

  “Did you hear anything interesting at the party?” he asked, idly toying with a loose curl at her temple, the pearl earring in her ear.

  Emily could hardly remember anything at all when he did that. She laughed and playfully swatted his hand away. “Not at all. Broken engagements, elopements, card debts. How was your own business?”

  “Equally dull. But we should be able to leave in a few days.” He leaned over and kissed her deeply, his arms going around her waist to carry her down to the chaise. Emily giggled, her empty glass falling from her hand to roll away across the carpet. How delicious he smelled, her husband, of clean air and soap and lemony cologne, how strong and warm he felt in her arms. She wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him even closer to her.

  “Nicholas…” she said, and gasped as he nibbled at her earlobe. “My parents are coming for dinner later.”

  “Mmm, much later, I hope,” he muttered against her neck. “There’s plenty of time until then. I missed you today.”

  Plenty of time indeed. He kissed her again, his tongue sliding over hers, and Emily forgot everything but the two of them and their own precious, fragile world.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Oh, Miss Carroll—that is, your Grace! Mrs Goddard asks if you can come to the school as soon as may be.”

  Emily glanced up from the menus she was perusing to see Sally in the doorway of her little sitting room. The butler hovered there, too, a disapproving look on his face that such a caller had come dashing in so improperly at Manning House.

  But Emily felt a little thrill of happiness to see her. It had been days since they returned to London, and she had only been able to make one short visit to the school amid all her new duties. She missed it so much.

  But then Sally’s words sank in, as well as the strained look on her pretty face, the way she had so forgotten her carefully learned manners. Mrs Goddard asked her to come quickly—and Mrs Goddard never sent for her. Emily pushed back her chair and hurried across the room to take Sally’s hands. She dismissed the butler and closed the door behind him.

  “Sally, my dear, please sit down,” Emily said, leading her to the sofa by the window. “You look quite flushed. You must have dashed all the way here.”

  “Oh, yes, your Grace. I got lost, I’m afraid, and had to hunt around for a bit to find this place. I’m not sure how I could miss it, though!”

  Emily laughed. “It is quite the behemoth, isn’t it? Here, have a bit of t
ea—I think it’s still warm. And tell me what is amiss.”

  “Mrs Goddard is ill.”

  “Ill!”

  “Oh, not dreadfully ill, your Grace. It’s a cold that won’t go away because she refuses to rest as she should. But the doctor came this morning and insists she take a tisane and stay in bed for a few days.”

  “Days? I doubt she will be able to do that even on doctor’s orders.”

  “No, miss—your Grace. But the other teachers are standing guard at her door. If she doesn’t rest it could turn into pneumonia. She’s fussing about the school, though.”

  “Poor Mrs Goddard. What can I do to help? I fear I would be no good at making her rest. I never could argue with her.”

  “She wants you to come and talk with her, your Grace, to see if you can organise the school for a few days while she rests. She says you’re the only one who can do it.”

  Emily felt a sudden touch of pride at Mrs Goddard’s confidence in her. She was overjoyed to be of help—as long as it wasn’t in the mornings. “I will come right away. Just let me fetch my bonnet.”

  They set out into the sunny day a few moments later, making their way through the crowded streets. Once they left Mayfair and the fashionable houses and shops behind, the walkways were quieter and they were able to slow down a bit.

  “Mrs Goddard told me you’ve been working very hard on your lessons lately, Sally,” Emily said, linking her arm with Sally’s. “Soon you’ll be able to find a good position, I’m sure.”

  “If anyone will hire me, your Grace!”

  “Certainly they will. With everything you have learned at Mrs Goddard’s, and the letter of recommendation I will give you, you will have a suitable place in no time.” A letter from a duchess could go far indeed. Emily had to admit she very much liked all she could do for her friends now. “Maybe one day you’ll have a school of your own.”

  Sally smiled happily. “A school of my own! That would be splendid.” But then her smile faded as she glanced across the street. “I fear it will have to be some place far from London.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I stay here, I will just keep seeing people who knew me—before. Like that man across the street who is staring at us.”

  Emily looked, and to her shock saw it was Mr Rayburn who watched them. She glimpsed him between the flash of passing vehicles, just standing there smiling. Had he been following her all this time? He caught her eyes and mockingly tipped his hat to her.

  “Mr Rayburn,” she whispered.

  “You know him?”

  “He once was something of a suitor, though it was never a serious thing. Not on my part, anyway, and I thought not on his until recently. He used to—visit you?”

  Sally’s lips tightened. “He visited the house quite often, sometimes to see me, but not always. He was not choosy about which girl he saw. And he was also a man of, um, interesting tastes. You’re lucky you didn’t marry him, miss. Very lucky.”

  “I’m seeing that more every day,” Emily murmured. And thank goodness Sally and Jane were both well away from him!

  But now he had seen her with Sally, a woman whose past he knew all too well. Surely just one gossipy word about the new Duchess of Manning’s “friends” would not go well for her new family, for her reputation and her husband.

  She looked out across the street again. He was gone, but she was sure he would not be far.

  “Should we go, miss?” Sally said worriedly.

  Emily shook her head. “We must not allow such an annoyance to ruin our day. He is gone now. Come, we need to get on and see Mrs Goddard.”

  Nicholas heard Emily’s light footsteps as she hurried past the library door. It barely seemed like a breeze over the parquet floor, a faint rustle of her skirts, yet he knew it was her. After only a few weeks of married life, he knew her step, sensed that she was in his house. Their house. It had become shockingly normal.

  And he had let his guard down, just as he had vowed he would not. Emily, with her shy laughter, her bright green eyes, her sweet passion, had slipped in close to him before he even realised it.

  He knew he should back away now, keep his distance for her own sake, but he could not stop the way the day suddenly grew lighter and brighter when she was there. He pushed away the dull account books and swung open the door.

  She was already far down the corridor, her pale muslin dress a ghostly blur in the gathering twilight. Her head was down, as if she was lost somewhere in her own world.

  “Emily,” he called softly, but she didn’t hear, still lost. “Emily!”

  A tremble went through her shoulders and she spun around to face him. “Nicholas! I didn’t see you there.”

  “I heard you walk past the door. What have you been doing today?”

  “Oh. Just—shopping. Seeing friends. The usual sort of London thing.” She sounded oddly out of breath, and she would not quite meet his gaze. The laughing woman who had kissed him on the drawing-room chaise was nowhere to be seen.

  What had happened today? Surely more than shopping or visiting. But Emily clearly did not want to say, and he didn’t know how to draw it from her. In his family, no emotion or experience went unexpressed.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the doorjamb. “Are we dining out tonight?”

  Suddenly, a hoarse sob escaped Emily’s lips. She ran back along the corridor and flung her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.

  “Em! Is something amiss?” he asked in shock. He held her against him. “Did something happen to you today?”

  “No, nothing happened, I just—I suppose I missed you. That’s all.”

  “After one afternoon? If this is going to be my greeting every time we part, I must go away more often.”

  “No.” She peered up at him solemnly, her eyes wide. “Do you remember on our wedding night when I promised I would always do my best and never make you ashamed of me?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “I still promise you that. Don’t forget.”

  “Em, I would never be ashamed of you. How could I?”

  “Please, Nicholas. Just don’t forget.”

  Then she dropped her forehead to his shoulder again, hiding her gaze from him, and said nothing else. But Nicholas could feel the way she trembled against him, and he knew something was very wrong with his wife. He had made his own vow on that wedding night, to do whatever he could to make Emily happy. And now something was making her very miserable, just when she had brought him such joy.

  He was going to find what that was and put a stop to it—whatever he had to do.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You have a visitor, your Grace.”

  Emily glanced up from her book to find the butler standing in the morning room doorway, silver tray in hand. A tingling shiver seemed to tremble up her spine, and even before she took up the card she knew.

  It was George Rayburn. Ever since he had seen her with Sally two days ago she had been sure this moment would come. Several times she started to tell Nicholas, to confess all about her work and the way Mr Rayburn had caught her out. Nicholas knew how to deal with scandal; he and his family had been doing it all their lives. He would surely know how to fix this, too, or he would tell her to ignore it, it did not matter.

  But then he would smile at her, or take her hand and kiss it, and her resolve to confess and pay the price would falter. Her marriage seemed off to such a fine start, which she had never dared dream would happen. But it was still young, and so fragile.

  She loved Nicholas, but he did not yet love her. She so much wanted him to, wanted them to have a real marriage. It was too early to bring such trouble to him. And she had to protect the new baby above all else. No one could be allowed to harm that precious little life.

  She would just have to solve this business herself. And she had to begin by confronting Mr Rayburn.

  “Please show him in,” she said.

  “Very good, your G
race. Shall I have refreshments sent in?”

  “That will not be necessary. Mr Rayburn will not be staying long.”

  As the butler left, Emily carefully set aside her book and sat up very straight on the settee, her hands folded protectively over her stomach. On the wall across from her hung a painting by Nicholas’s sister Annalise, a sunny scene of the lake at Welbourne. The sight of it, and the happy memories it evoked, gave her a jolt of courage.

  She had so much to protect now. She would fight anyone who dared threaten it.

  George Rayburn swept into the morning room and gave her an elegant bow, smiling his charming smile as if this was the most pleasant of social occasions. Emily refused to be lulled, or even to smile in return.

  “Your Grace,” he said. “How lovely you look today. Marriage certainly agrees with you.”

  “It is not the usual hour for calls, Mr Rayburn,” Emily answered shortly. “To what do I owe this honour?”

  “I am wounded. Even if you are a duchess now, surely you still have time for old friends? You certainly seemed to at Gunter’s—and at the worthy Mrs Goddard’s school. She does have the most interesting collection of pupils, as I discovered when I looked into the matter.”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed as she studied the odious smirk on his face. “Mrs Goddard is quite respectable, and a lady in my position is often called upon to work for charity.”

  “Very true. But what will people say of an unmarried young lady—or even a married one of such high title—associating with women like the fair Sally? An earl’s daughter gallivanting around town with a common prostitute? Think of the things she could have told the innocent young lady, or the places she might have taken her. Terribly shocking, if a sweet new wife learned such naughty things in all sorts of vile places. Perhaps that was how she captured such a marital prize. Perhaps she was practising whorehouse wiles on him at the Arnold ball when they were caught.”

  His eyes widened with feigned shock. “So appalling. One more scandal on the Manning title, and surely the worst one to date. Who knows what kind of children such a duchess would produce?”